The Meaning of Evil
by AhumbleHalofan
Summary: The villains of Storybrooke have merely played at being evil. There exist beings whose very purpose is to breed the vilest of evil. Against such a creature does the Savior and the Villians of Storybrooke stand a chance?


**I of course have NO ownership of Once Upon A Time. If I did there would probably be a least a _little_ better plot lines happening. **

**This isn't long by any stretch of the imagination. Please do give it a chance and let me know if there are any interested in me continuing the story. This is mostly the result of a plot bunny that would not leave my head.**

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The small town of Storybrooke was quiet as a full moon rose, shinning brightly in the eerie night. Even as the various self-proclaimed _villain's_ plotted away to grabbed their own happy endings; nature herself continued on as it always had. Trees soaked in the sparse light coming from the moon and stars. The beasts of the land hunted or grazed as was their want. However nothing could remain peaceful forever.

In a clearing, by a long disused well made of brick and sweat the air shimmered in an unnatural heat. The branches of large trees across the clearing stirred as the heat rose higher, glowing in the darkness. All across Storybrooke the song of wolf and dog became an unintelligible chorus of fear filled howls. The once ever present music of insects seeking their mates died, growing into an unnatural stillness. The land upon which Storybrooke dwelt seemed have taken in a deep breath; as if waiting for a dark presence to pass it by.

Suddenly, in the clearing, the very air tore asunder with the sound of ripping cloth; reality itself screamed its pain at the wrongness of the intrusion. From the hole that now floated barely a few centimeters above the ground came the low growl of a predator. With the sound, a long sinuous arm snaked out grasping hold of the sides of the mighty tear. Using its hold as a brace the unknown creature dragged the rest of it large body out from whatever black abyss it had sprung.

As soon as its mighty form had exited the portal the rip in reality shut its with an snap. Standing in an unblemished world a creature a full head taller than any normal man looked out upon the unsuspecting people of Storybrooke. What passed for its skin was a black beyond that of the deepest nights. It was such a desolate darkness that it stood out as plainly as if it were noon day. The muscles beneath rippled, standing out prominently with enough power to rip to the very muscle off unsuspecting bones with ease.

The head was shaped like that of some predatory hawk. Twin pin-pricks of light stared out taking in everything around the creature.

This was not the first time the creature had visited this world. Once, long ago, when the primitives of this world had begun to work together for the first time, creating monuments to their own greatness, he had come. The creature still remembered the sight that had greeted its eyes. A world of lush beauty filled with ever present magic. Great winged dragons had drifted through the air with scales of gold and silver. Trolls and Ogers rumbled through the bogs and swamps of the land. Fare distant shaman traversed the realm of spirits, speaking with honored ancestors. Before its eyes was a world of balance and order. A disgusting place.

It was a place of pure stagnation. There was no change made by the hands of others expect by that of nature herself. The land was a boring place filled with boring creatures. The dragons would never head its words of change. The creatures of the damp lands were too stupid to understand. The shaman kept the ancient history of their people too alive to see any change. That left only the first kingdoms of man.

The kingdoms had their magic, that stopped them from ever seeing further than a spell. Fortunately the creature knew of how to release a world from its dependence on the flow of magic. When it had cut the flow the once mighty kingdoms of men had proven all too willing to bend to its words. The great dragons of the sky were hunted without mercy. The Trolls and Ogers were forced back to the stone from whence they came. Without magic the shaman would no longer maintain their peoples ways.

As time wore on the kingdoms of men fell, rose and fell again; bloating themselves ever more with the carcasses of their conquests. It was good.

Seeing its work finished and a once virgin world thrown into the beauty of chaos it left, expecting to never return. Now it had come again sensing the blight of magic once more stinking through the void realms.

The creature lifted its bird-like head and sniffed the air searching for the stench of magic. With a black lung full of rich air the creature grew puzzled. The magic it tasted was not from this land. Its stink was far more pungent than the magic that had once filled this world. It was thin magic, but the growth it could undergo was clear enough. Given time this lilac infused abomination could spread again across the face of the planet.

Already its very presence had thrown the beautiful chaos of the world back into some form of order. Man no longer killed so frequently amongst itself. The creature could feel the very beasts of the land rejoicing at the very wisp of magic. That would _not_ do.

The creature stood proudly looking down upon a small town that seemed to be the source of this worlds new magic. Femto, a being of the purest darkness, looked down on the people of Storybrooke and swore to see the people turned to ash.


End file.
